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xp_logs2004-11-08 11:27 pm
x-crowdofone.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2004-11-08 11:27 pm
Entry tags:
Hand Me Down: Prelude
Late Monday night, in dreams: sometimes things don't end as cleanly as you want them to.
The house of broken mirrors stretched on forever. Glass crunched under his feet.
Flicker
In an abandoned nursery, broken toys lay jumbled in a rotting toybox, and the breeze chased weeping echoes past his ears.
Flicker
Soot flaked off ruined bindings in the cindered library, and the feathery ash-ghosts that once had been pages drifted past his face.
Flicker
And as he stood amid the broken reflections, with the cries of broken toys ringing in his ears, the scent of charred knowledge stinging his nose, one mirror, directly behind him, grew together: its shards lifting into place, its cracks bleeding back into the frame and vanishing. His reflection stared out at him, lonely and lost, but his back was turned, and he didn't see.
The house of broken mirrors stretched on forever. Glass crunched under his feet.
Flicker
In an abandoned nursery, broken toys lay jumbled in a rotting toybox, and the breeze chased weeping echoes past his ears.
Flicker
Soot flaked off ruined bindings in the cindered library, and the feathery ash-ghosts that once had been pages drifted past his face.
Flicker
And as he stood amid the broken reflections, with the cries of broken toys ringing in his ears, the scent of charred knowledge stinging his nose, one mirror, directly behind him, grew together: its shards lifting into place, its cracks bleeding back into the frame and vanishing. His reflection stared out at him, lonely and lost, but his back was turned, and he didn't see.
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(Yes, that's a double H and a double exclamation mark)
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